Between Blood and Breath

I hate Silence

Vittorio’s POV

The door closed behind her.

I stayed where I was, one hand resting on the edge of my desk, my body still angled toward the place she had stood moments ago. The room felt wrong— as if something essential had been pulled out of it without permission.

I hated that feeling.

I hated more that it came from her leaving.

I turned toward the glass wall, staring down at Milan stretched beneath me. The city moved as it always did—obedient, unaware, alive because men like me kept it that way. I had spent my life building order out of chaos. Control out of blood. I never allowed emotions to interfere with decisions.

Emotions got men killed.

And yet—

Her eyes.

That was what refused to leave me.

There had been fear in them, yes—but not fear of me. I knew what that looked like. I had lived with it reflected back at me for years.

This was different.

For my name. My authority. My fall.

That realization lodged itself somewhere deep in my chest, sharp and unwelcome.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my shoulders to loosen. I didn’t like this reaction. Didn’t trust it. I had rules—clear, unbreakable ones.

No attachments or softness and no emotional indulgence. Especially not toward someone like her.

I walked back to my chair and opened the file she had flagged. The issue was exactly what I expected. Men assuming deadlines mattered more than compliance because they thought I wouldn’t look closely.

They always made that mistake.

My jaw tightened. This would be handled. Quietly. Permanently.

But that wasn’t what occupied my mind. It was the way she had refused to sit.

The way her body had gone still under my hands before easing—just slightly.

I pressed the intercom. “Cancel my external calls for the next two hours.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I didn’t waste time. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I never saved, because I never needed to.

It rang once.

“I am listening,” Marco said.

Marco Rinaldi. My right hand. The man who handled the things I didn’t allow to exist on paper. Loyalty sharpened into something lethal. He had stood beside me long enough to recognize when my voice carried more than command.

“There’s an issue with the eastern project,” I said. “Deviations approved under my name.”

Marco exhaled slowly. “Do you want them erased?”

“Not yet.”

That single phrase made him pause.

“Find out who authorized it,” I continued. “I want Names. I want to know who thought my authority was optional.”

“Understood,” he said. “Anyone else involved?”

“Yes.” My voice dropped before I could stop it. “Someone caused fear in my office.”

Silence stretched across the line.

Marco knew me well enough to hear what I wasn’t saying.

“That matters to you,” he said finally.

“It does,” I replied. “Handle it.”

“I will,” he said. “Anything else?”

I ended the call.

I stood there for a moment longer than necessary, phone still in my hand. I wasn’t angry. Anger was easy.

A pressure beneath my ribs that refused to ease. I replayed the moment again—her voice faltering, the way she had looked at me like she was asking something without words. Like she expected me to understand. No one ever expected that of me.

Trust was not something people offered freely.

She had. Without realizing it.

I paced the length of my office, movements controlled, measured, but my thoughts were anything but. I had built my life around discipline. Around refusing anything that weakened my grip on the world.

And Prerana—

She didn’t demand space. Didn’t challenge authority. Didn’t try to charm or seduce.

She simply existed.

A woman without roots was dangerous. I had known that the moment I learned her history. People like her survived by folding themselves into whatever space allowed them to breathe. They carried fear differently. Deeper. Older.

And now that fear had brushed against me.

My phone vibrated.

Marco’s message was brief.

Intentional. They assumed you wouldn’t review personally.

I smiled without humor.

Proceed, I replied.

I set the phone down. Consequences would follow. They always did. The deviation would be corrected, the offenders removed. Order restored.

But order inside me?

That was already fractured.

I pressed the intercom again. “Call HR.”

A moment later, her voice filled the room. “Good morning, Sir.”

“I want the annual day celebration moved forward,” I said.

“Internally?” she asked.

“No,” I replied. “Globally.”

There was a pause.

“I want partners from every region. Investors. Make it visible.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said carefully. “Do you have a theme?”

“Legacy,” I said. “Excellence.”

“And the venue?”

“Milan,” I replied. “Not the office. Somewhere neutral. Grand.”

“May I ask the reason—”

“No.”

“I’ll send the plan by end of day,” she said.

I disconnected.

I knew exactly why I was doing this.

Prerana would be at the center of it. She always was. Planning. Coordinating. Managing pressure without complaint. But this—this would bring her closer. Into meetings. Into decisions. Into my space.

I told myself it was strategy.

That her competence demanded proximity.

But the truth was far simpler—and far more dangerous.

I wanted her close enough to watch.

Close enough to understand what had carved that fear into her eyes long before she ever walked into my office.

I sat down slowly, rubbing my thumb against the desk’s edge.

This was how it began. With concern.

I had spent years denying myself anything that could weaken me. I knew what I was capable of when something became mine.

And whatever had started between us—

I could feel it now.

I closed my eyes briefly, then opened them, already aware of the truth I didn’t want to accept.

I would move carefully.

Because I didn’t know how to want without possessing.

And I had already begun to want her.

Elio didn’t knock.

He never did.

The door opened quietly, and my brother stepped inside as if this office belonged to him as much as it did to me. In many ways, it did.

He loosened his coat as he walked in, the faint scent of antiseptic and something clean following him—hospital air, carried home. He looked tired in the way only men who saved lives looked tired. Calm on the surface. Heavy underneath.

“You’re still here,” he said, glancing at the clock. “That’s new.”

“So are you,” I replied.

He smiled faintly and dropped into the chair opposite my desk, resting one ankle over the other. “Long surgery. Complicated. Young patient.”

“You stayed,” I said.

“Of course,” he replied simply.

That was Elio. He didn’t say things for effect. He said them because they were true.

I studied him for a moment longer than necessary. Same blood. Same upbringing. Entirely different men. Where I carried the weight of the world like armor, Elio carried it like responsibility.

“You spoke to HR,” he said.

“Yes.”

“They called me too,” he continued. “Annual day.”

I leaned back slightly. “It’s time.”

“For what?” he asked, eyes narrowing with curiosity rather than suspicion.

“To remind people who we are,” I said.

“And?” he prompted gently.

I didn’t answer immediately.

Elio watched me the way he watched patients before delivering difficult news—quietly, carefully, already sensing the truth beneath silence.

“Something happened,” he said.

“Yes.”

“With the company?” he asked.

“No.”

That caught his attention.

“With you, then,” he said.

I didn’t correct him.

I stood, moving toward the window again. “I want the annual day dinner held at the Grand Milano. Eight p.m. Two weeks from now.”

“That’s soon,” he said. “Guest list?”

“Global partners. Investors. Medical board members. Political allies.”

Elio raised an eyebrow. “You’re mixing worlds.”

“Deliberately.”

He nodded slowly. “I’ll attend.”

“I expected that.”

“And Prerana?” he asked casually.

The name landed harder than I expected.

I turned back toward him. “What about her?”

Elio didn’t answer right away. He leaned back, fingers steepled loosely in front of him. “She’ll be coordinating everything, won’t she?”

“Yes.”

“She always does,” he said.

There was something in his tone then.

“She was afraid today,” I said.

Elio’s posture changed instantly.

“Afraid?” he repeated. “Of what?”

“Not of me,” I said.

Elio exhaled slowly. “That makes sense.”

“It doesn’t,” I said sharply. “Nothing should make her afraid.”

He met my gaze evenly. “You’re wrong.”

I stiffened. “Explain.”

“She’s alone,” he said. “People like her don’t fear authority. They fear consequences. Loss. She doesn’t have anyone to impact for her.”

“She doesn’t need to,” I replied. “She’s under my protection.”

The words came out before I thought them through.

Elio went very still.

“Is she?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation.

He studied me, really studied me, and then nodded once. “Good.”

That should have ended the conversation.

It didn’t.

“You touched her today,” Elio said.

It wasn’t a question.

I didn’t deny it. “To stop her.”

“And?”

“She reacted.”

“How?”

I hesitated.

Elio waited.

“She wasn’t frightened,” I said finally.

Something unreadable crossed his face.

“That’s important,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because people don’t relax around you unless they feel safe,” he replied. “And people like her don’t feel safe easily.”

I didn’t like how accurate that was.

Elio leaned forward slightly. “Vitto… how long have you been watching her?”

“I don’t watch her,” I said.

He smiled gently. “You’re lying.”

I said nothing.

“She hasn’t even realized it yet, has she?” he continued.

“Realized what?”

“That she’s already part of us,” he said.

I turned fully toward him. “Be careful.”

He didn’t flinch. “I am.”

The silence between us stretched.

Then Elio spoke again, his voice softer now. “I heard her voice before I ever saw her.”

My jaw tightened.

“In meetings,” he continued. “On calls. The way she speaks to you is different. The way you answer her is different.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“It means something,” he interrupted gently. “You don’t change your tone for anyone.”

I didn’t argue.

Elio leaned back again. “When I finally saw her face… I understood.”

“Understood what?” I asked.

He didn’t smile this time.

“That she doesn’t belong outside,” he said. “She belongs inside. Somewhere safe.”

He paused, then said the word that shifted the air.

“Home.”

I felt it then.

That sharp, unfamiliar twist in my chest.

“She doesn’t have one,” I said.

“She could,” Elio replied.

“With us,” he confirmed.

I stared at him. “You’re crossing a line.”

“No,” he said calmly.

I turned away again, fingers pressing into the glass. “She’s my assistant.”

“And she’s a woman who’s been alone too long,” he replied. “Those things are not mutually exclusive.”

I exhaled slowly.

“I don’t know what I want yet,” I admitted.

Elio stood. “You don’t have to.”

He walked toward the door, then stopped. “But whatever this is… don’t pretend it’s nothing. That’s how you break things.”

I said nothing.

Before he left, I spoke. “Tonight.”

He turned back.

“I’m taking her to dinner,” I said. “Eight p.m. Grand Milano. I’ll introduce her personally. Under the shadow of professional courtesy.”

Elio’s eyes softened.

“She’ll be nervous,” he said.

“She won’t be alone,” I replied.

He nodded once. “Good.”

The door closed behind him.

I remained standing, staring at my reflection in the glass.

Tonight.

A dinner. A conversation. A step I had no intention of naming yet.

But something told me this wasn’t just an introduction.

It was a beginning.

And once something began with Prerana—

There would be no turning back.